The Swordfish II
by Serp
Summary: A cool little one-shot about Spike when he was seventeen and his monoracing career.


A flawless blue sky stretched for miles across the desert, the hot sun making sharp shadows from the pocks and dents on Earth's barren surface. The hottest day of the year according to the weather satellites, and it sure felt like it.

Seventeen year-old Spike was sat in Doohan's office chair, long legs up on the table, listening to the wireless with his eyes closed and the gentle wafting of the fan on his face. Doohan was working in the shop, so he was going to have a nice, easy day for once provided the old man didn't come back any time soon. His face fell as he heard footsteps approaching, but he welcomed the sudden blast of stale air that shook away the penetrating heat just for a second.

"Get up," Doohan snapped, striding in angry as ever. Spike opened his eyes as more footsteps appeared, and two men in sharp black suits followed the engineer inside. "Sorry, I was just..."  
>"Don't matter now, boy, it's a good thing you're here anyway. These two want to have a word." He jabbed a thumb at the suits and Spike raised an eyebrow at them.<p>

"Take a seat Mr Spiegel," one of the men said. "I'm Mr Adams, this is Mr Jones. We're from Marlin MR."

Spike amicably shook hands with them both, though since they were from Marlin he already knew what they wanted.

Adams stepped forward smartly, although Spike could see an enthusiastic, fan-boyish glow on his face. "Can I just say sir, your last championship run was out of this world–"  
>"Cut the chit-chat fellas," Doohan barked. "I ain't standing around all day for you to feed the kid's over-inflated ego."<br>"My apologies, I was merely being friendly." Adams cleared his throat and adjusted his tie. "To business then." Spike leaned against the table as Adams took a seat, and watched him pull a thin folder out of a briefcase and slide it onto the coffee table. He opened the file to the first page. "We at Marlin are always looking to maintain our innovation, our engineering and our talent base and so far this year, as you probably know, we have won seven major leagues including the Venusian Ishtar Championship. We are the company at the forefront of monoracer technology, boasting the fastest racers in the solar system and some of the greatest pilots of our generation."

Doohan gave a disparaging snort, but Adams ploughed on. "Our innovations have broken the boundaries of long-held concepts, we have made ground-breaking advances that have helped shape the world of monoracing. And, Mr Spiegel we would very much like it if you joined us. Your talent is, quite frankly, unequalled."  
>"You're offering me a contract?" Spike asked, though it was more of a statement than a question. He'd known they would, and part of him - the selfish, vain part of him - hated the fact that he would have to turn it down.<p>

"Eighty million woolongs. It's heady stuff, but I urge you to think about it."

Spike whistled. There was a lot a guy could do with eighty mil. Women, drink, smokes... He could buy Doohan a new office if the old coot would ever accept. But still… He shrugged his shoulders and pulled out a cigarette. "Nah, I don't feel like it."

Adams and Jones were dumbstruck. They looked at each other, then Adams tried again. "Eighty million."

"Mm." Spike said, lighting up. "Sorry, fellas, I appreciate you coming out here but unfortunately I can't take the offer."

"B- But why?"

Spike grinned. "Let's just say my heart belongs to someone else."

"What a load of bullshit. This was your doing wasn't it, old man..." Adams pointed an accusatory finger at Doohan, and that pissed Spike off even more. It was too hot to be arguing. Begrudgingly, he pulled himself to his feet. "I hate to disappoint you but the Marlin X500 is not the fastest monoracer. The Swordfish II is. And she's the only racer I'm ever gonna be flying."

"You'd rather fly that hunk of junk than an SR250?"  
>"In a heartbeat."<br>"What about the Black class 29-92?"

"I hear the handling's a little off on that model." Spike leaned forward and closed the file, pushed it across the table towards the two confused businessmen. "And despite my reputation fame and fortune never really appealed to me. Listen, I'm the only racer on the circuit not funded by a major company," at least none anyone knew about, "and that's not gonna change. Just be glad I'm not backed by Danio or Ziege or one of your other rivals."

"We can up the offer if you would prefer—"

"Sorry." Spike stood up and extended a hand. "It was a pleasure meeting you both. Best of luck." He noticed the handshakes were a lot briefer this time around. Adams and Jones shuffled out into the searing sunlight and across the airfield, back to their waiting shuttlecraft. Doohan clapped Spike on the back as they watched them take off. "You could've taken the offer."  
>"And lose the Swordfish? And my freedom – or what's left of it anyway? When you've got a sponsor they usually find a way to screw you to the floor, and that's no way for a pilot to live. Trust me, I've got the Syndicate."<p>

Doohan chuckled. "It's a tough world kid, but you're alright. By the way..."

Spike got that sinking feeling, the one just before Doohan told him something he didn't want to hear.

"If you need something to do, the Swordfish needs a test flight since I put in that new altitude system, the cargo hangar's a mess and the Barracuda in hangar three needs to be ready to go by tomorrow. I still haven't finished installing the engine, though, so that'll keep you busy 'til the sun goes down."  
>Spike sighed and ground his cigarette into the dirt. "Sure thing, old man, you take it easy."<br>"Bet the contract's looking sweeter now, eh?"

"See you later, Doohan." Spike grinned and trudged towards the Swordfish's hangar, already looking forward to taking her out for a test. Her red wings gleamed in the sun, made her look almost brand new. Spike clambered into the cockpit, felt the familiar controls beneath his fingers and turned the key in the ignition. Her engine roared and she accelerated, tilted, lifted off into the clear blue sky, proud as a lion and free as a bird.


End file.
